


Northern Spirit

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Ghost!Elia Martell, Ghost!Joanna Lannister, Ghost!Ned, Ghosts, Haunting, Multi, Please Don't Take This Seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: When faced with his death Ned Stark's only regret was that he was leaving his family behind, a regret strong enough that he did not pass on. Instead, he was left able to haunt his family, aided by some of the unlikeliest allies, and changing the course of the War of the Five Kings forever.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Sansa Stark/Mya Stone, Satin Flowers/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, the only established pairing is NedxCatelyn, the others will all arise as the story continues. This chapter is more a prologue than anything else, more action will come later on.  
>  I don't know how long this one is going to be so bear with me and I hope you enjoy!

The weather was perfectly pleasant, a cool breeze off the sea cutting through the stifling heat of the city. A nice day to die, an absent part of Ned’s mind thought as the sentence was passed by the bastard calling himself king. There were pigeons flying overhead, and he picked out various people in the crowd jeering at him.

Someone with a blue ribbon, a man with a bright pink doublet, a little boy clinging to the statue of Baelor.

Wait. That was no little boy.

It almost looked like it was Arya? A flash of grey eyes and a mulish expression and he was reassured.

His baby girl was alive, if dirty and thinner than she had been before his arrest.

His eyes locked onto hers and he tried to tell her to look away, to not watch. He knew Sansa would be forced to, but maybe one of his daughters would be spared that sight.

An arm wrapped in black pulled his sweet Arya down from the statue, an arm that could have only belonged to Yoren of the Watch, a man who had seen Ned’s children grow as he was often the one to accompany Benjen on trips to Winterfell.

That was good. He would protect her. He would see her safely North.

Ned had no regrets, well he had some, but he did not regret confessing to a treason he did not commit to save Sansa. He did regret that now she would be alone in the Lions den with no protection, his sweet daughter would be left at the mercy of a mad king.

He was forced to his knees and the sharp pain from his injured knee jolted him from his thoughts, all he could do was pray that it would be over quickly. A glance at the blade that the executioner held was both reassuring and infuriating, to die upon his own blade was an insult, no doubt about that, but he knew how sharp Ice was, knew that it would be quick.

There was a sharp pain and a heartbroken scream and then suddenly he was watching as his own head fell to the floor.

A strange sight to be sure, to see his own eyes gazing at nothing, glazed with death. And as he turned, he saw his body slumped to the floor, blood sluggishly pouring from its neck.

The scream died off and he turned from the hypnotic sight of his own head being held up to the raring crowd to see his sweet Sansa collapsed to the floor in a faint. In a strange way he was pleased she had fainted, that she would not need to witness the cruelties the crowd was calling out and the degradation occurring to his cooling corpse.

There was a sort of tugging sensation, a warmth beckoning him, and somehow Ned knew that if he followed it he would move on, would get to see those he had lost. But, he would also be leaving behind his children, leaving behind Cat and Benjen. And he did not want to do that, he didn’t want to leave Sansa in the hands of the Lannisters, didn’t want to leave Robb to rule the North alone, didn’t want to leave Arya’s safety with someone transporting criminals, and he didn’t want to leave Jon still not knowing of his true heritage.

The tugging lessened, until it was just the faintest sensation in the back of his mind, a reassurance perhaps that he could still follow that path someday. Ned looked down at his hands and somehow they were more solid looking, although he doubted that he was actually visible to anyone else due to the lack of screaming.   
With the majority of the spectacle over the nobles began to return to the Red Keep, Ned’s jaw clenched at the sight of Sansa so callously thrown over the shoulder of one of the Lannister guards but it was not like he could do anything about it.

He followed after her, his feet not quite touching the ground. It was difficult to choose whether to follow Sansa or Arya, but he did trust that Yoren would get her out of the city, and if he was in the Red Keep then he might be able to find out what had happened to the rest of his household.

Ned was so focused on his daughter and on the almost tangible strings he could feel pulling him, pulling him back to the square, and pulling him Northwards, strings that he realised were links to his family, to the people he had chosen to remain for; that he did not realise there were people in front of him.

Two women, one dressed in an out of style gown that obviously hailed from the Westerlands, if the red brocade and gold embellishments were anything to go by, as well as he startling resemblance to the queen; the other in Dornish attire of orange and red, her eyes ones that had haunted Ned’s nightmares for years since he saw them glazed in terror and death.

“Lord Stark.” Princess Elia looked on him with cold eyes.

“Princess Elia,” Ned bowed, his eyes flicked to the Westerlands woman, “And apologies, my lady, but I do not know who you are.”

The lady raised a sculpted blonde eyebrow and looked at him witheringly, “I would not expect you to, Eddard Stark, we never met when we were alive, although you do know and disdain all three of my children. I am Joanna Lannister, Eddard Stark, and as you did, I chose to remain for my children. We have a need to speak with you.”

Ah. The only way this meeting could likely get any more uncomfortable was if Robert or Rhaella Targaryen showed up as well. He waited a moment, just in case they did, and let out a silent sigh of relief when they did not show. He did not know if they cold be hurt in this state, but he had no desire to find out.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance then, my lady.” Ned bowed to her as well, he may not like her family but it cost nothing to be polite. “But if you will both excuse me; I need to keep an eye on my daughter.”

He did not know where Sansa had been taken, for surely she would not be returned to her former room in the Tower of the Hand, instead he focused hard on the string that he knew connected to her, one that reminded him of the sharp sweetness of lemons and the scent of fresh picked jonquils. He focused hard on it and suddenly found himself in front of her, in a room that, based on the view from the window, he knew to be in the Maidenvault.

Sansa was lying on the bed, sprawled as though she had just been dumped there, and Ned supposed she probably had. He went to tuck her in properly, to move her head so it was placed upon a pillow and to tuck a blanket over her shoulders to ward off a chill, but when he did so his fingers passed through the material.

No matter how much he tried, he could not move the blankets or pillows, and the touch of his fingers made his sweet daughter shiver in her sleep.

Ned had to move himself away from her before he caused himself distress at his inability to do the slightest thing to care for her. Instead he moved to inspect her room, it was both appropriate for the daughter of two great houses, with its beautiful drapes and polished silver mirror, and yet at the same time below her station as the betrothed of the king for its small size and lack of private solar.

Her belongings were scattered around, the doll he had bought her placed upon a shelf, and a necklace that had been a gift from Catelyn upon their departure sat on the small dressing table, but other things were missing. The slender signet ring that had been etched with the direwolf of their House, the cloak pin that had been his mother’s, and even all her Northern style dresses were gone. It was as though the Lannisters had tried to remove anything that marked Sansa out as a Stark.

He ran a hand over her hair and contented himself that she was safe for the time being, that he could find her again if need be, and that she would not be harmed by the Lannisters. They would not dare to harm her, not when it would risk the wrath of two of the Seven Kingdoms.

The stories he had been told by Old Nan swirled around his head as he contemplated what had happened, stories of restless spirits who had remained because they had unfinished business. He tried to remember what had been said of their limitations, of what they could and could not do.

He could not quite recall the details of those stories though, he had never paid much attention to them, much preferring the stories of knights and romance over the ghost stories Benjen had liked. He would have to find Elia Martell and Joanna Lannister again, surely they knew the limitations of this new form, but still, he found himself loathe to find them and the barbs they would no doubt aim his way. Or at least, not without seeing the rest of his family first.

There were eight of the strings in his chest in total, one for each of his family members. Sansa’s was all but silent with him so close to her and it was not a hardship to work out which one belonged to Cat, her string reminded him of the clear waters of the hot springs and the scent of fresh lilies and it was easier to focus hard enough on it to travel to her, now that he knew what he was doing.

His lovely wife, his new widow was in a war camp, surrounded by the rolling green hills of the Riverlands and the banners of the Northern Houses. She still looked ever so hopeful, and ned knew it was because she had not yet received the news. That the gentle smile on her face as she observed their son japing with their ward would soon be lost to grief.

Ned could not stop himself from reaching out to caress her soft cheek, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. Yet all he could feel was a slight warmth, a memory of it more than anything and Cat shivered from the sudden cold his touch brought.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Roose Bolton, asked from his position by her side.

Ned did not like how close Bolton was to his wife, nor how he looked at her with something almost akin to longing in his eyes.

“I am fine, Lord Bolton.” Cat demurred with a gentle smile, “Merely a slight chill from the wind. As my husband so loves to say: Winter is Coming.”

It softened something in Ned to hear those words spoken by her, to hear his wife and love speak the words of his family, and if he could he would have remained by her side forever. A strange sort of weakness started to fill him however, like he would dissipate into the wind if he remained too long, and so with a heavy heart he followed the string which pulsed the strongest.

The harshness of the wind tempered by the scent of lilacs that the string invoked made sense when he saw his baby girl scowling at three boys with a fierceness that belied her short stature. Someone had cut her hair, giving her the appearance of a boy, and she looked so much like Benjen had as a boy that Ned did a double take.

“D’you even know how to use that thing?” One of the boys, his hands stained bright green, sneered at Arya.

Arya bared her teeth in a snarl at him, looking more wolf than girl, “Course I do. Last time I used it was to stick a nosy brat in the throat, d’you want a demonstration?”

While Ned was slightly horrified by the implications his baby girl had killed someone; he was impressed that she had learnt enough in her lessons to be able to do so, and that she was smart enough to changer her accent so it was not recognisably Highborn.

He was proud of her, for escaping capture and her strength in dealing with the poor hand she had been dealt. If he could summon even half her courage he would call himself brave indeed.

But there was little point in putting off the conversation he needed to have much longer, he could not do anything to help his family and honour his oaths to keep them safe if he was unaware of his limitations.

The two ghost women stood where he had left them, on the steps to the Red Keep. They affixed him with a cold stare and he resisted the urge to shuffle in place like a scolded child. 

Joanna Lannister held out her hand and fixed him with an imperious stare.

“Come, Eddard Stark. We have much to teach you about this new life of yours.” 


	2. It is best to ensure your subject knows you are dead, before appearing to them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm prefacing this chapter by saying that this fic is absolutely pro-Lyanna and pro-Elia. I absolutely do not believe that bullcrap that D&D gave us about Rhaegar and Lyanna being 'in love', you know, since she was at most fifteen while he was nearly thirty. In this fic, Lyanna was kidnapped and this will absolutely be mentioned throughout. If you cannot deal with this then please just hit the back button. Thank you :)

_“On occasion, you can be seen.” Lady Joanna instructed him, “Should someone have a disproportionate amount of Valyrian or First Men blood then it is easier to become visible to them, otherwise it uses a high amount of energy, just as it does if you travel far from those you are bound to.”_

_That made sense, but something still confused him, “What do you mean those I am bound to? I felt weak when I visited my wife and son and yet strings bind me to them.”_

_Princess Elia scoffed, “That is because you have so many strings, your energy is spread too far. You, more than us, are confined to your family’s presence. Tell me, Lord Eddard, do any of those strings feel stronger? More stable?”_

_Ned focused inwards, and two did pulse stronger than the others, the two he had identified a belonging to his daughters. When he mentioned as such they gave him a considering look and then shrugged._

_“It might just be because they were closest to you on your death.” Lady Joanna said, “My bond with Tyrion is ever so slightly stronger than my ones with my other children or husband.”_

_He supposed it made sense, in a strange way, and he had felt the most regret over leaving his girls behind in the lions’ den._

_“Back to our original point,” Princess Elia said with a scowl, “You can be seen by people, and heard if the blood is strong enough, but it is easier if you show up as a reflection in their mirror. I do it sometimes to Cersei Lannister when she says something particularly insulting about Dorne, and I used to do it to Robert Baratheon when he was sober to try and make him feel guilt over my murder and the murder of my children.”_

_Ned nodded and listened as they told him how to concentrate so his reflection showed up, he wanted the chance to speak with his family again, to protect his family again, and this seemed like the first step in that._

* * *

To be fair, Ned entirely expected the shriek that his daughter gave when he appeared in the mirror behind her.

His little Sansa had screamed at almost everything, or so it seemed, a spider on her ceiling, a frog in her bed, snow shoved down the back of her dress, all of those caused her to scream while her other siblings had merely laughed or let out slightly less dramatic shrieks.

And yet, this shriek was far more cutting, for all it did not have the piercing volume of those others. For this was a shriek filled with a pain deeper than most, the type that Ned had never wanted his daughter to experience, and certainly not at the tender age of eleven.

He raised his hands placatingly and began to speak in a low and soft voice, as though he was calming a spooked horse, or Rickon from a tantrum.

“Sansa, sweetling,” Ned said, his voice as soft and calming as he could make it, “I am here.”

“Father?” Sansa whispered back.

“Yes, dear heart, I am here.”

Her eyes seemed to drink in his reflection, with a sort of desperation that made a cold pit form in his stomach.

“You look as you do in my memories.” Sansa said, almost to herself, “Not as you do now.”

Ice gripped his heart, “What do you mean, sweetling?”

His sweetest child, his delicate daughter locked eyes with him with eyes too old for her face, “Joffrey took me to see your head. He told me he would give me Robb’s as well.” A wolfish smile flashed on her face for a mere moment, so slight he could have almost believed he imagined it if not for her words. “I wanted to throw him off the wall for that.”

Pride and fear warred within him at those words, and more than ever he wished to wrap her up in his arms and hide her from the cruelties of the world.

“To do so would mean your death, sweetling, and a world without your laughter would be a terrible thing indeed.”

“I couldn’t do it in the end.” Sansa looked down as if ashamed, “I wasn’t brave enough.”

Not for the first time Ned cursed that he could not touch her, that he could not draw her into the hug that she so desperately needed. “Sometimes living is the bravest thing of all, I would not have you throw your life away on that horrid boy, not when there is still much good I would have you discover.”

Sansa’s face creased up in pain and her eyes seemed almost dead, “And how shall I discover this good when I am bound to marry Joffrey? As soon as I flower I shall be his plaything for the rest of my life, at what point will I have the chance to see good things?”

Pain shot through Ned’s stomach at the defeat in her voice, the resignation to a life of sorrow and hurt. The knowledge that it was his fault, that he had been the one to make the betrothal, that he had allowed Robert to convince him to stay in Kings Landing when all he wanted was to go home with his family only intensified the pain.

He reached out, forgetting for a moment that he could not touch her, and cradled her cheeks in his palms. She shivered but did not flinch away, not when she could see the support he was trying to offer her.

“You will not marry him, my sweet, not if I have anything to do about it and not if your brothers do either.” Ned vowed.

A tear fell down Sansa’s cheek at his vow and her shoulders slumped in relief.

“Thank you, father.” She whispered, “Thank you.”

* * *

Later on, the scream that Jon Snow let out upon seeing the ghost of his father would be attributed to the wind, for no one would believe that their fearsome Lord Commander, the man who had led them to victory against the Wildling incursion and held strong against the kings who wished to destroy the neutrality of the Watch, no one would believe that such a man could scream with such a high pitch.

Had Ned been alive he surely would have had his ear drums burst from the volume and pitch, and as it was, he still winced at the sound.

“Jon.” He tried, “Jon, calm down. Please, calm down.”

“How are you here? You’re in Kings Landing, you cannot be here.” Jon muttered with wide eyes, “I’m hallucinating, I knew I shouldn’t have eaten the food Pyp cooked.”

So it seemed news of his death hadn’t reached the Wall then, that would make this harder to do.

“Jon, son, I’m, well.” There really was no easy way to tell your fifteen-year-old son/nephew that you were dead. “I’m dead.”

Jon stared at him with an expression that was all Lyanna, one that would have caused Ned’s heart to clench had he still been in possession of one.

“It’s not true. It can’t be true.” Jon muttered to himself, rocking ever so slightly in place, the same way he had as a young boy whenever he was trying to comfort himself during a telling off.

Ned desperately wanted to wrap his arms around him, wanted to pull his son against him and wrap him up away from the world as though he was but five years old again.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, I would have had you told in a kinder way.”

Jon looked up at those words and the shadow of some emotion passed over his features before he stood, stoic as any Stark should be, “And what of the girls? What of Arya and Sansa?”

“As safe as they can be, Arya is travelling North with Yoren of the Watch, he will see her to Winterfell. Sansa is still in Kings Landing, her betrothal still stands at the moment, perhaps they are hoping that it will quell Robb’s anger.”

“I should be with Robb, I should be helping him.” Jon said, pacing up and down as though he could not bear to stand still, “Robb needs me, Arya and Sansa, they need me.”

“Have you sworn your vows Jon?” Ned asked instead, no judgement in his voice, “Have you sworn your oaths?”

Jon deflated all at once, “Aye. I cannot leave, can I? I cannot force Robb to take my head as an oathbreaker and deserter.”

Ned smiled at him, a sad smile, and called him a name he had not since Bran had been born, “You cannot, sweet boy. You must stay here, but I promise you, I shall visit when I can, I shall bring you news of your brothers and sisters. It is easier now for me than it would have been otherwise.”

Jon nodded his head and stood firm and strong, “Lord Commander Mormont is arranging a great ranging beyond the Wall, one that I shall be accompanying him on. I-” He paused and scrubbed a hand down his face, turning to look at Ned like he had as a child when asking for help with his lessons, “Do you have any advice for me father? Only I am afraid.”

Ned released a long breath, “It is not wrong to be afraid, for it is only when you are scared that you can be brave. And the best advice I can give you my son, is that true courage and honour knows when to spare a life instead of taking it.”

It was advice that Jon Arryn had given him before his first battle, advice that had served Ned well through the years, advice he was proud to pass on to his own son.

Jon nodded firmly and set his face in the same expression he had worn since he first set his mind to walking, the one which meant that no one could stand in his way. It was an expression Lyanna had worn often.

“Thank you, father, I will not let you down.”

Ned knew that already, none of his children ever could.

* * *

Thoughts of Jon and Lyanna swirled around his head when he returned to the Red Keep, memories of a war long gone, of blue roses and blood and a desperate promise.

“Lord Eddard.” It was almost like Princess Elia could hear the thoughts of her husband and his betrayal, “I trust your visit went well.”

There was still some coolness between them, an almost stilted air, for they could not forget that they had been on opposing sides of the rebellion, that Ned winning had signed the death sentence for her. And yet she had softened slightly in his presence, when he had listened to what she had to say, when he had been an attentive student without posturing or complaint. When he had apologised for not being fast enough to take the city before Tywin Lannister had.

He had a choice now though, did he keep up the charade that Jon was his bastard, a child borne to him by an unnamed mother, or did he tell the princess the truth? Did he tell her that the son who had been smuggled out of Kings Landing had a half brother?

“It did, my princess.” Ned bowed his head and looked at her with sorrow in his eyes, “I feel like I should apologise to you though, to your son and to my own, for I have kept a terrible secret all these years.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, “Speak plainly, Lord Eddard. What secret did you hold that you must apologise for?”

“When I found my sister all those years ago, when I found her, she was dying, just not of the sand fever we told everyone it was.” Ned could feel his face crease with pain at the memory, “She died in childbirth.”

Time seemed to freeze, the air grew cold, and Ned could practically see the sparks of anger flying around Elia.

“Tell me you are lying.” She said in a voice cold enough to freeze a second Wall, “Tell me that Rhaegar did not dishonour me so. Tell me my husband was not a rapist.”

Ned met her gaze without wavering, “I do not lie. Prince Rhaegar did not just steal my sister, he also placed a babe in her belly, one that killed her for she was too young.”

For a moment Princess Elia looked more a dragon than any member of the House she had married into, and then she was gone, vanished, leaving behind only the scent of blood oranges.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you want to speak to me about this or any of my other works, find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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